My Demonic Laundrette

Enough with the self loathing. A & I made up and watched 8 solid hours of DVDs - 4 hours of Angel, 4 hours of Buffy. That is so sick I can barely stand to admit it. But what are you going to do? You have to keep your nerd cred up. And now I feel like Frankenstein: I got up from the TV and started lurching around with my arms straight out in front of me. My eyes are all blurry and my head hurts.

I went to the laundromat today and took pictures (well, I did my laundry too.) My exciting laundromat life. At least the Laundry Nazi wasn't there. She frequents the same laundromat I do, the one attached to the Amoco station conveniently across from the Westville. She brings piles and piles and piles of laundry, monopolizes all the carts, and (this is the worst part) critiques everyone else's laundry techniques. She goes around looking in the washing machines and telling people - me, for example - what they're doing wrong. Quite a lot, of course. No kidding. My laundry technique involves tossing all of M's clothes in hot water and mine in cold.

I guess she could be considered endearingly weird if I was a nice person. But, as was established in the previous post, I'm not. And so I always hope a demon will come crashing through the window & take her out. But unfortunately, she's the demon. My demonette laundrette.